


How DARE she

by angryjohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1908162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryjohn/pseuds/angryjohn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post season 3. Mary has cheated on John and so he returns to Baker Street, where he belongs.<br/>(Whatever happened with the return of Moriarty has already been dealt with. Don't know if it'll be mentioned.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday friend!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John comes home WOOP. And they adorably avoid saying how in love they are.

Sherlock appeared in the door at the top of the stairs.

“Your home – I mean... back.”

John cleared his throat, “Ahemm, yeah. If- I mean," John kept his gaze to the floor. "Can I come back?” He looked up.

The hallway was in shadow such that it was impossible to see Sherlock’s expression, however-

“Ofcourse.” He stepped back, pulling the door open. “Come in.”

John trudged up the stairs with his bags, which Sherlock took silently before stepping aside to let John through. John felt his body visibly relax as he re-entered the flat and took a quick look around. Everything was exactly right, the wallpaper the same, his chair right where it should be. It felt like home.

“Tea?” Sherlock called from the kitchen.

“Yeah thanks.” Said John, his mood further rising as he sunk into his chair.

The tea must already have been made, because Sherlock returned almost immediately, and laid it down at his side. Sherlock sat on the sofa, leant back, took a sip of his tea and said, surprisingly tenderly,

“So what happened?”

John laughed drily, “Haven’t you deduced that already?”

Sherlock looked him up and down, “Well, you were in shadow in the hall and I haven’t had a chance to-“ all the lines in Sherlock’s face disappeared as he broke off. His face grew rigid and his eyes seemed to visibly set alight and burn in murderous rage.

“No.”

John laughed bitterly, “Yes,” he said.

“She didn’t.”

“She did.”

“HOW DARE SHE!”

John jumped as Sherlock leapt to his feet. He began to pace frantically around the room.

“Sherlock-“

“How did I let this happen?” He asked, glaring at the skull with his hands in his hair. “I didn’t see. _Why_ didn’t I see? How _could_ she!”

John stood up, a bit alarmed at this reaction.

“Sherlock, honestly, it’s okay. I’m not that upset, I mean, I’m angry but I-“

The tall man turned around, stormed back towards John and pushed him roughly back into his chair. John worried briefly what he would do next but he just turned again and walked towards the mantelpiece, glaring at himself in the mirror.

“Sherlock-“

“I failed you John. I’m sorry. I didn’t expect-“

“Sherlock, it’s _okay._ Please sit back down.”

Sherlock stayed where he was another moment, then came and sat in his chair opposite John, he leant forward and looked intently into John’s eyes.

“How did you find out?” He said quietly.

“Oh- well- I sort of- caught them in the act.”

He half expected Sherlock to get up and rage again, but he just closed his eyes for a brief moment, as though in pain.

“I’m sorry.” He said, locking eyes with John again.

“It’s okay. I mean, yeah, I’m angry – mostly at her _nerve_ but- but I’m not-, actually jealous somehow. He can have her actually. She’s a- she’s a manipulative murderous bitch and I- I think it’s good I’m shot of her.” He actually felt some conviction wash over him as he said the words. “I just- I can’t believe I let her back into my life after- I mean I should have realised she would- she wasn’t trustworthy.”

“You loved her.” Sherlock said, like it was an explanation.

“But I don’t think I did. After she shot you, I never went back, I never felt the same way. Never.” John was realising the truth of his words as he said them. He had decided to forgive her, but it was more what he felt was his duty than what he actually wanted to do. What he’d wanted to do was stay at Baker Street and never leave. But there had been the baby, and Mary, he had actually felt a little sorry for Mary, thought perhaps she felt remorse for what she had done, and wanted to be forgiven by the world. She had cried at Sherlock’s parents, seemed grateful, and he had believed her, even though he knew what an experienced liar she was, that she had successfully lied to him for months already.

Now she had done it again, what a fool he had been. But still he didn’t feel hurt, or jealous, he felt like this had been coming since that day at Sherlock’s parents, but had probably been sped up since they lost the baby. He remembered waiting at the hospital, worrying about the child, he probably hadn’t worried about Mary as much as a loving husband should.

“John.”

John looked up, Sherlock had maintained his intense gaze. John wondered if he had been able to follow what John was thinking, as he sometimes seemed able to read minds.

“Ahem, sorry, disappeared for a sec. Now you know how it feels.” He tried giving Sherlock a small smile. He didn’t return it, he just gave John the most tenderly concerned look he thought he’d ever seen on Sherlock’s face. It was almost unnerving.

“I’m fine, honestly.”

“Who was the man?”

Oh, the man. John had hardly thought about the other man that had been in his bed since he’d caught them. His thoughts had anchored on his anger at Mary and his confusion at his lack of jealousy.

“Dunno. Just some bloke. Looked a bit like you. For a minute I thought-“ He broke off at Sherlock’s look of abject horror.

It _had_ been a horrible moment. John’s stomach had sunk a few inches when he saw his wife shagging someone else, but it had plummeted through the floor when he saw a mop of curly black hair and for one heart stopping moment thought that it was Sherlock kissing her. That Sherlock had betrayed him. He had briefly wondered who he would go to for comfort, if they had both betrayed him. But then the man had turned his head and it had been some stranger without high cheekbones and icy green eyes. John had almost felt relief.

Sherlock still had the horror struck look on his face.

“Oi, Sherlock. I know it wasn’t. It’s fine.”

“Why would you think I could-” Sherlock’s voice was hoarse.

“I don’t Sherlock.” He cleared his throat. “I know you wouldn’t. Though, I did always think you had a bit of a thing for her.”

Sherlock looked flabbergasted.

“What on Earth, could you have spectacularly failed at deducing that could lead you to that conclusion?!”

John thought about it.

"Well, you stuck up for her when she shot you-”

Sherlock came in immediately, “A mistake. I thought it was best for you, I was wrong.”

“You like her, you don’t like anyone.”

“ _Liked._ And she was part of your life. I had to like her, if I wanted to continue my association with you.”

“Your first words waking up were her name.”

“After she shot me! I was trying to warn you.” He sounded stung.

“You shot Magnussen for her.”

“Wrong. I shot Magnussen for both of you. Mostly you.”

John stumbled on his words. “I- okay well, I didn’t really think that- ...it – it was just a horrible moment.”

There was a silence. John took a few shaky breaths, trying not to replay it in his head. Sherlock straightened from where he had leant forward. He looked away awkwardly and then back, focusing his stare on John again.

“John, if it helps I-” He broke off.

“What Sherlock?”

“I – I mean, you know I’m usually not at all sexually inclined.”

“Yes...” Where was this going?

“Well – I. On occasion, -when I have been, it has – been exclusively towards –, er men.”

He looked very uncomfortable. John processed this.

“Janine, Irene...?”

“Nothing.”

“You didn’t-“

“Nothing.”

“Oh.” Sherlock looked away. John couldn’t think of anything else to say. He felt strangely light, like a weight he didn’t know he was carrying had been lifted.

“Well, that’s good.”

“Good?” He looked back at John.

“I mean thanks. I guess that does help, a bit.”

“Oh.” He looked away again.

They continued to not look at eachother for a moment.

“Anyway, John.” He said at last. “I atleast, am glad you are back.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

   Chapter 2

The next few weeks are a bit surreal. Unlike the last time he was here, nursing Sherlock back to health after his lying wife shot him, he’s not anxious or angry or depressed and things feel almost exactly the same as they did before Sherlock fell. They go on cases, they shout about chores (John) and boredom (Sherlock) between those cases, and it’s almost as though the last 3 years never happened. And John feels really quite as happy and fulfilled as he did back then.

Though there are a few subtle changes.

John doesn’t date anymore. He can’t make himself be interested in anyone anymore. He frequently finds himself thinking people are boring and not worth the energy to pursue them, he wonders if he’s turning into Sherlock.

Sherlock hasn’t changed. He’s still rude, obnoxious, difficult to deal with on a daily basis, lazy. John is almost constantly exasperated. But for some reason he finds this endlessly comforting. Bickering with Sherlock is something he knows how to do and every day he feels more and more comfortable and at-home. Part of him thinks Sherlock knows this and is being extra contrary on purpose.

But Sherlock is also more touchy. Of an evening Sherlock might sprawl across the sofa with his feet in John’s lap. If he’s walking past John in his chair he might brush his fingers across John’s head, or hold his shoulder for a moment like he’s checking he’s there.

John never says anything. He even sort of likes the affection, especially as he’s not seeing anyone at the moment, but he’s feeling more and more like this is becoming the sort of relationship he's always denied that they had. And his lack of a sexual partner for a longer time than he’s used to is starting to remind him of his neglected libido.

Him and Mary didn’t have sex in the brief period when he went back to her. He didn’t want to, and she was heavily pregnant for the first half. After the baby died she said she hadn’t got her libido back yet (clearly she only meant for John), and John didn’t press the point, still vaguely uncomfortable with his lying wife, and mourning his dead child, he didn’t exactly feel in the mood either. That makes it atleast 10 months since he's had sex.

 And now, well now he’s back living with his ridiculously handsome flatmate. The only person he really trusts, who’s saved him on multiple occasions. The most exciting person he knows who keeps touching him affectionately and unexpectedly – which is completely out of character.

One Sunday afternoon, in a lull between cases, John sits in his chair and contemplates how the cases are a bit of a metaphor for sex. They’re exciting, there’s a teasing build up and a climax and a moment of satisfaction, usually associated with a rush of adrenaline. And it’s always him and Sherlock, John and Sherlock against the rest of the world. John takes a sip of his tea despairs at the direction of his thoughts; his self given diagnosis is that he needs to get laid, given that he’s now comparing murders to sex.

                                                                                        *

“I’m going out.”

“Where?!” Sherlock turns the whole top half of his body seemingly independent of his bottom half to face John from where he’s curled up on the sofa. He looks alarmed; John hasn’t gone out without Sherlock aside from going shopping since he moved back in. Sherlock looks him up and down, turns back around huffily and says: “A date? John I thought you were past all that nonsense.”

“I’m not past sex.” John says flatly.

Sherlock turns around again, clearly shocked at the openness of his words. They’ve talked about sex almost never since they’ve known eachother, and nearly never used the word.

“I see.” John can see Sherlock’s cheeks flame up as he turns back around to face the back of the sofa. And he says sex doesn’t alarm him.

“Right, well, bye.” John turns to leave.

“John!” He swivels back. Sherlock is still pressing his face into the sofa.

“Yes?”

“I- um- nothing.” Sherlock almost never stutters or is uncomfortable to say anything.

“What is it Sherlock?”

“Just- when will you be back?”

“Well, hopefully not this evening.”

“Right. Have fun.” His voice is muffled.

“Bye.” John grabs his keys and coat and leaves before he can change his mind and just stay with Sherlock.

                                                                                  *

Amelia is a lovely woman. She’s pretty and dark haired with a long nose and an interesting middle-eastern sort of face. John asks her about it and she says her dad was from Syria. John talks about his army days. She says she had a boyfriend who died in the army and she’s heard alot about what it’s like. They laugh alot and find they like the same television programmes and books and come from similar family backgrounds – reasonably poor with one sibling and distant parents. Before John knows it, it’s midnight and the restaurant is closing. They leave the restaurant and she asks shyly if he’d like to come home with her. She’s exactly the right amount of seductive and awkward that it’s positively endearing and John can’t believe his luck. And he’s about to say yes but then suddenly his mind goes: no no no.

Sorry, he says, I can’t tonight. But can I call you? She looks a bit surprised but gives him a cheeky smile and says:

“That’s what you’re supposed to say _after_  the sex.” She tucks her number into his front shirt pocket and waves goodbye as she gets into a cab.

John stays where he is, completely shocked at himself. He wonders back to Baker Street trying to work out why the hell he just turned down sex with a lovely, beautiful woman when he’s been sexually frustrated for months. He walks home.

Sherlock’s in his chair with his computer in the unlit living room, the screen bathing his face in a white glow like a ghost. He scans John briefly as he comes in, looks back at his computer, then – in a very un-Sherlock manner – does a double take and looks back at John.

“Why did you do that?” He sounds completely shocked.

“I don’t know.” says John, sinking into his chair.

“Are you not over Mary?”

“No, I’m completely over Mary.”

“Then why-”

“I _don’t know_ Sherlock. I actually don’t know.” John leans back in his chair and closes his eyes.

“Are you alright?”

“No. I’m completely bloody sexually frustrated, and for some reason, I’m not doing anything about it.”

He still doesn’t open his eyes, and therefore jumps when he feels a hand on his knee. He opens them quickly and sees Sherlock has put down his laptop and is leaning towards John.

“Sherlock, I know your trying to be comforting, but putting your hand near a guy’s crotch when he’s just told you he’s sexually frustrated is probably the wrong thing to do.”

Sherlock doesn’t move, he just stares at John.

“Sherlock!”

“I’m not trying to comfort you John, I could- I could help you.”

“Help me? What do you-” John gasps. “Sherlock! You don’t mean?”

“You’re sexually frustrated and attracted to me, John. I’m right here, and I’m offering to help you. What could I mean?”

“I- Sherlock- this, this isn’t the sort of thing friends-”

“Some do. For some reason it’s always been forbidden territory for us, I suppose it's because it would take our very intense friendship even closer to a relationship, which you seem very unwilling to do.”

John jumps up. “Me unwilling? As opposed to- ? Sherlock, you’re the self-professed socio-path who claims he’s married to his work.”

Sherlock stands up too. “You use my words from our first meeting as though it’s my motto 3 years later!”

“Well you’ve given me plenty of proof!” Somehow John's shouting. “You propose to Janine to get into a building, you allow Irene to die so that you can win the bloody game, and you leave me for two years thinking you’re dead so you can win against a psychopath. You show me time and time again that your married to your work above all else, and you’ve never given a hint you want another relationship!”

Sherlock kisses him.

He holds John’s face in his hands and invades his mouth like it’s seconds before the end of the world. John finds himself wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s back and pulling him up against him, deepening the kiss. Sherlock is, for some inexplicable reason, wearing his coat, which John hadn’t noticed before – it’s so much a part of Sherlock – but now he tugs it off him, breaking the kiss for a moment. They pant and laugh and touch foreheads.

“We’re such idiots.” John breathes, giggling.

“You are-” begins Sherlock but John rejoins their mouths to cut him off. He wraps his fingers up in Sherlock’s messy, tangled hair and pulls him closer. Sherlock’s hands roam down his back and around to his front where they busy themselves undoing John’s shirt. John thinks of being naked with Sherlock and a full body tremor runs through him. Sherlock’s hands pause.

“Don’t stop.” He whispers into Sherlock’s mouth.

Sherlock flattens his hand on John’s chest and pushes him backwards towards the nearest wall. He leans firmly into John’s body so they’re touching all along their torsos down to their toes. He stops kissing John for a moment and holds his gaze steadily.

“You are everything to me John Watson.”

Sherlock’s kisses trail around his jaw and to his neck. He undoes John’s shirt button by button, kissing each new bit of skin. John shivers again but Sherlock doesn’t pause, he falls to his knees as he reaches John’s belt clasp.

John’s knees nearly give way as Sherlock locks eyes with him from his place on the floor, impossible cheekbones flushed, hair wild, mouth pink and slightly swollen from kissing. He undoes John’s belt achingly slowly, not breaking John’s gaze. He pulls the belt through every loop and drops it on the floor. His eyes drop to John’s crotch.

Ofcourse Sherlock would be this bloody dramatic about it, John thinks. The tension is almost too much for him as Sherlock raises a hand just as slowly, and lays his palm on the bulge in John’s jeans. To his horror, John lets out a pathetic little whine and thrusts forwards a little. Sherlock’s eyes dart up, he smirks. John seems to have lost all control of his throat, because now he lets out a growl. Sherlock smiles again and undoes John’s fly quickly. He pulls John’s trousers and pants down freeing his penis.

The cool air is electrifying, but not as much as Sherlock's intense, unflinching gaze on his dick. His mouth is millimetres from it. It's all John can do not to thrust.

Sherlock leans forward ever so slightly, and breathes delicately on the head. It's a tiny bit ticklish and John twitches, leans his head  back and all of a sudden is engulfed in Sherlock's wet, warm mouth. He cries out, and can't help but buck a little. Sherlock pushes his hips to the wall, and leans forward to take him into the hilt. He sucks for a moment, and lights pop infront of John's eyes, and pulls off. He kisses down the side of John's length, and speaks against it, his impossibly low voice rumbling through John, 

"Would you like to fuck me?"

John's knees actually do give way then. He falls infront of Sherlock and leans forward to pant into his mouth.

"Should I take that as a yes?"

"Do you want me to?" John gasps.

"Ofcourse." says Sherlock as though it’s a ridiculous question.

John pulls Sherlock into another heart  shattering kiss, plundering his mouth and taking it for his own. Sherlock moans, and John doesn't think he's ever heard a more beautiful sound. 

"C'mon." He says roughly, and drags Sherlock by the shirt collar to his room, stepping out of his own trousers and kicking off his shoes and socks on the way.

They're only just in however, when Sherlock has him pinned again, this time against the door. He holds john's wrists above his head in one hand and fists John's erection with the other. John shouts at the sudden onslaught of sensation and briefly worries that Mrs Hudson might hear. It's only for a moment however, Sherlock breaks away and grins at him, backing towards the bed.

John rushes forward and shoves Sherlock bodily backwards so he falls on his back. John shrugs off his jacket and shirt which are somehow still on. He suddenly realises Sherlock's still fully clothed while he's stark naked and feels briefly self conscious. Sherlock though is looking at him like he's the most beautiful thing in the world and reaches up to pull him down, wraps his legs around his waste, and kisses him lavishly.

"Your turn." John grunts. He undoes Sherlock's shirt buttons efficiently, and trails his fingertips down Sherlock's torso, reaching up to rub a nipple. Sherlock jumps. John looks up to see very wide eyes and moves up the bed to kiss him carefully.

 "You alright?" He murmurs, trailing kisses down Sherlock's chin to his glorious neck.

"Yes," Sherlock sounds a bit breathless. "It's just - hmm - been a while." 

"Want to stop?" He moves away to get a good look at Sherlock. He's so beautiful, all flushed and panting with his dark hair falling around his head. 

"God no!" Sherlock looks alarmed and accentuates his point by thrusting up into John's thigh. John can feel he's rock hard beneath his expensive trousers.

"Fuck." John breathes, and his feeling of urgency shoots up. His kisses Sherlock's neck and undoes his fly with fumbling hands, he traces down Sherlock's belly and palms his erection through his pants.

"Ahhh-ahhh. Fuck John ." 

A jolt of arousal passes through John at his name next to that obscenity in that gravelly voice. Urgency further increased, he pulls off Sherlock's shoes and socks and then trousers in quick succession. He lingeres on his pants, stretching them out and sliding them over his lovers erection. He pulls Sherlock to sitting so as to remove his shirt and then pushes him back  down, hovering over him and snogging him again for a good minute.

"Errm, do you have any lube?"

Sherlock was already pressing some into his hand from God knows where. John slicks h is fingers and fixes Sherlock with an intent, careful stare.

"Tell me if it hurts." He says forcefully.

"Ofcourse I'll - oh!"

John had slid the first finger in.

"Oh John it's- AHH" He moans wildly. His deep rich moan. John thought he could spend days doing nothing but trying to find ways to elicit that moan. It sent shivers down his spine.

"Find it did we?" John whisperes, adding a second finger. Sherlock starts to nod, before-

"Fuck! Fuck John fuck."

"Obscene mouth you've got in bed," John grins and kisses him, continuing to move his fingers. He adds a third, he finds Sherlock's prostate again and twists his fingers against it. Sherlock writhes and gasps and trembles.

"I'm ready! I'm ready John, John please! Pleaskigshh-"

John twists his fingers again on his way out. His cock is positively throbbing with anticipation. Sherlock has tears on his face, he's looking at John with wild, uninhibited need.

John slicks his cock, lines himself up, hesitates slightly, and then rocks slightly forward.

"Ahhh hh c ahhh."

Christ. The noises. They're so out of character for the usually untouchable, composed detective. They're low and rough and uncontrolled. John rocks deeper and he throws his head back, John kisses his throat open mouthed and he moans wantonly.

"Ah-ahh, John I- fuck!"

John's rocked all the way in. He stops there, allowing Sherlock to adjust. The flutter of Sherlock's muscle around him makes him groan. He presses Sherlock into the bed with his body so they're touching all alongh their torsos to the place where they're joined. He kisses Sherlock luxuriously, palms pressed against his chest, as though they have all the time in the world, still rooted inside him. Sherlock's gasping against his mouth. He rolls his hips.

"Oh! John! I-"

"C'mon Sherlock." John reaches down ans grasps Sherlock's cock, he gives it a slow long tug while he rocks.

"Ahhhh-ah." Sherlock gasps and shivers when he comes. He throws his head back again and closes his eyes, his mouth opens. His pure look of flushed bliss and the tightening of his muscle bring John over the edge. He rides out his orgasm still gazIng at Sherlock, who opens his eyes and watches him back.

He lingeres on pulling out, wanting to draw this out as much as possible. He falls on his back next to Sherlock and they stare at the ceiling, one side of their bodies touching, as their breathing slows.

After a minute he turns to look at Sherlock. Who's breathing is still not back to normal. He's very wide eyed and looks a bit shell-shocked.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes." He says, but he's trembling.

"Are you sure? You seem a bit-"

"I haven't- it hasn't-"

John gasps,

"Sherlock have you never done that before?!"

"No I have, I just- it's never-" He looked frustrated at his lack of articulation."It's never felt like  _that_ before."

"Oh." Says John, at a loss. "Did  _that_ feel good?"

Sherlock nods slowly.

"Good." John says, wondering what Sherlock's past sexual encounters had been like and pushing the thought away. "Me too." He gathers Sherlock in his arms. "Let's do that again some time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably used every cliché in the book - I've read far too much fanfic. And I know they got together a bit sudden. But you know. Hope you enjoyed it. #First time smut don't judge


End file.
